


Toreador, love awaits you!

by SorryFreudianSlip



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Alcohol, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Mattimir, Swearing, Vladimir Ranskahov Lives, dancer!Vlad, my sad little babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorryFreudianSlip/pseuds/SorryFreudianSlip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’d flex every muscle when he wasn’t allowed to move, like he was taking stock of artillery. As though he should be somewhere else."</p>
<p>In which Matt is thoughtful, Vladimir is oddly graceful, and Foggy can't hold his liquor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toreador, love awaits you!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, and English is not my first language, so I apologize for any character and English mistakes. Title is from "Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre..." from Carmen. Enjoy!

Vladimir had nice posture. Matt noticed these things. He categorized the weight distribution of the people he met, their center of gravity. It helped him assess situations, made movements more predictable. He could hear a thousand words in the way Foggy dropped the weight of his shoulders when he saw him black and blue.

Vladimir’s was perfect.

Well, not always. He appeared to be a fan of sprezzatura, a natural non-chalance and devil-may-care attitude that made Matt’s skin crawl. He didn’t walk, he strolled, cocking his chin back with a smirk like everyone was just so damn funny. Like nothing could ever touch him. Like nothing mattered.

But other times, his shoulders would square back, his spine would go brittle, and he’d stalk forward with terrifying grace. That was always when when Matt got hurt just enough to need Claire and he would curse at him in Russian, leading to screaming matches and “I can’t lose you too”s and angry sex on the floor.

Off-guard, though, he was balanced. And restless. He’d roll his ankles and point his toes, cracking his neck to drive Matt up the wall. But it was...off. Matt could just dismiss it as cabin fever from having to heal in a small apartment. But in some quiet moments he could hear when Vladimir stretch. He'd let his fingertips graze all the way down his legs till he doubled over, rising back up and arching his back with a sigh. He’d flex every muscle when he wasn’t allowed to move, like he was taking stock of artillery. As though he should be somewhere else.

Of course, when Claire pronounced him healed, they’d both decided he was staying.

They were both private people, but things rarely stay secret when you live in the same safe house. He learned Vladimir could only drink beer warm, and would pour entire bottles of it into his stew. He also liked Rosé wine with spices at the bottom, which was now Matt’s favorite drink. He hung up all his clothes and used Matt’s clothes iron with glee, purchased mirrors and hung them everywhere. Matt would grin and quip about sighted people and how they needed to look at themselves the most, to which Vladimir would laugh and muss up Matt’s hair.

Like Foggy, Karen, and Claire, Vladimir had managed to carve a place in Matt’s life. Matt would worry, but decided he didn’t give a damn (about Stick or any of his bullshit). He could live without them, without loud singing and plastic dinosaurs or late night drinks and personal cell phones but. Well. He supposed he didn’t have to. He supposed he didn’t want to.

And every time Vladimir would roll back his shoulders, Matt found himself wondering. Gymnastics? Maybe Systema?

The answer was rather anti-climactic.

“Y’know,” Foggy slurred, tipping forward. His Screwdriver splashed over the rim of the coffee mug and into his lap. Foggy stared down at himself for a moment, and then continued. “Y’know, you’re alright. You’re okay, right?”

“You are...mediocre as well.” Vladimir grinned, all teeth.

“Well, fucking...compliment...objected. Lawyer words.”

“True warrior of law.”

“Vladimir.” Matt said, tired and tipsy and hearing too much of his lovers body, thrumming with alcohol.

“Yeah, fucking Vladimir. With your arms and legs and shit.” Foggy giggled. “They’re nice. You’re not even his-are you his sidekick? Dude.”

Foggy sat up. “Are you? Is that why the legs? And the-the stuff?”

Vladimir chuckled, stretching and rotating his bones and joints from his ankles his calves long thighs his pelvis-fuck. Matt listened for the sounds outside, distracted his other senses with the burn of vodka.

“I was dancer.”

Oh.

“Huh.” Foggy said. “Huhhh. That’s-well, what? Was?”

“Was dancer. Did ballet with my-”

Vladimir’s throat spasmed. He swallowed hard.

“Long time ago. That why…” Vladimir grinned again. Forced casualness. “Legs and stuff.”

“Hey.” Foggy raised his coffee mug. “To normal civilians. Naz-nazdrover?”

Vladimir snorted, shaking his head, and raised his glass. “Salut.”

Foggy had hauled himself off their couch about an hour ago, after two cups of coffee and a shot of vodka. The pounding in Matt’s head was unbearable as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Mmm.” Vladimir nuzzled into his neck. Well, almost unbearable.

“A dancer?”

“Like I said,” Vladimir stiffened. “Long time ago.”

“I’d love to see it.”

Vladimir laughed.

“Even blind, you see how out of practice I am.” Vladimir sighed, rocking back on his heels.

“Would you like to?” Matt’s throat felt dry. “You seem restless.”

“It was fun. Not sure how much of show I make for you.” He leered.

“That scared, huh?”

“Ha! No, I was lifter. Make woman look good. My brother, he-”

Shit. Vladimir tightened his hold. Matt leaned back, just a bit.

“He...he had talent.”

Matt nodded. A long moment passed between them.

“Like the fight, dancing.” Vladimir said, breaking the silence. He turned Matt around, flashing him an easy smile. “You maybe do well. I teach.”

Matt laughed, playing along with the forced levity.

“Think I could pull off the tights?”

“Oh, Darling.”

Their empty laughter echoed off the blank walls.


End file.
